Q 112

YOur love and pity doth th'impression fill,
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow,
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow ?

You are my All the world, and I must strive,
To know my shames and praises from your tongue,
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong,
In so profound Abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my Adder's sense,
To critic and to flatterer stopped are:
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.

You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides me thinks y'are dead.
buy me